Ode
by Senko Wakimarin
Summary: He always though Death was a thing to be savored. He always expect his own death to be a reflection of the life he tried to lead- fast, brutal, and elegant. He never knew plans could go so wrong. mentions of K/L


---  
_Hang me, watch awhile  
Let me see you smile, as I die  
Take me, as my body burns  
Let me see you yearn, while I cry_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

He had always believed that death was a thing to be relished; it was the last meaningful thing a body could do. No life was taken carelessly or thoughtlessly- respect for the dying was, of course, impossible… and yet, there was a certain grace to the eking of _existence_ from a body. An elegance to the slow hollowing of the eyes; the last pull for air. Perhaps it was simply because it was the end of a human life that this all struck him as being so dignifiedly exquisite, or perhaps (as those who kept company with him for any length of time might have said in life) he was simply sick. Whichever the case, only in death could Legato see a human being in any good light.

Coming to this conclusion early on in his life, he had always assumed that he would go to his end with a sort of decorum, with the poise and clarity of foreknowing. He had always imagined it being brutal, quick, and clean. A death that might in some way reflect what he had always striven to be.

Fear had never factored into his life. When he made the decision to sacrifice himself and the Hornfreak in one perfect maneuver- a maneuver that would utterly break the rogue Plant- he had seen the act going with a certain smoothness; Midvalley's part could always be helped along if the other man balked, and his own personal detachment ensured success.

It had seemed so simple in theory. He had nothing more to expect out of life; there was nothing more he could do for himself or his master than teach Vash this one last lesson. As many times as he had experienced the labor of a man's last thoughts as the fool struggled not to die, as many times as he had heard about the will to live, he never believed such an idiot instinct dwelled in his own psyche.

And yet, when the moment came…

He kneeled before the Plant. He coaxed him calmly and without hesitation. When there was no other choice, he threatened. There was real work to be done to get to his prize, but he was staunch in his efforts, flat in his demands, unyielding in alternatives.

The gun that pressed against his forehead trembled; he was still. The man- more than a man, indeed, but less than the creature Legato served- was afraid of what was about to happen; Legato was not.

Still, in that final, crucial moment, he flinched.

The motion was all but imperceptible, especially against the jerk that came from the bullet hitting him. But beneath that tiny action was enough energy, a psychic push that nudged the bullet just enough to ensure it hit nothing vital.

The resulting pain was incredible; in shock from it, he fooled himself into thinking he hadn't moved at all. His eyes dropped closed and he lost consciousness as well as he could in such agony.

It was a good enough act evidently to fool Vash, especially when his mental hold on the villagers dropped. When he came to, he was alone on the rocky outcrop. There was blood everywhere, pain in his head like he had never felt- and he couldn't move.

There was a panic in him he didn't know he had the ability to feel; it bubbled inside him with each unsuccessful attempt at motion. His fingers twitched feebly when he told his arms to raise, and his legs would move not at all. He expected the discomfort of having laid so long on hard rock, but he felt nothing below his waist. Just a splitting pain in his head that had nothing to do with the glare of the setting sun, shining as it was into his myopic view.

Struggling fitfully to do something, anything, the panic swelled higher inside him with each failure. It took his breath away, making the air rank in his throat, his lungs tight with a scream that he couldn't open his mouth to voice.

He knew of prayer but had never conceived of praying. His deity existed in flesh, gave orders aloud in his presence, accepted praise in person- the idea of silently begging for help struck him as useless and stupid, in the face of a god as demanding and strict as his own. To pray to a god like Knives, for help, for mercy- an idiot's action. Knives had no mercy for fools, fools who botched their own perfect plans.

It left him silently, a wave of psychic energy exploding toward the only home he had. Not a prayer, for it lacked words to ask for anything, but a signal of distress, a cry for assistance. As the blast moved across the desert, sand eddied before it; the glass panes of a hermit's tidy shack blew inward, glass slicing into the flesh of the man's bent back as he meditated. It bent the grass flat and slammed into the building that had once housed thirteen humans and a god, and now held only a Plant, alone and waiting.

---  
_One step on your own  
And you walk all over me_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

The machines in the house woke as the windows- much sturdier than the hermits- shook in their frames. Knives' head snapped up as the pre-shock hit; suddenly Puccini's _Signore ascolta _was floating through the halls from Legato's quarters. It was like an omen; the opera was perhaps Legato's favorite, and though its playing was purely accidental, Knives knew without further information that Legato had tried to contact him.

He was in the human's room, switching the music off, when the real wave hit, confirming his thought. Were it an audible thing, it would have been as hell's own screaming. It threatened to overwhelm even him, causing a splitting ache to blossom in the back of his head, tears welling in his eyes at the sharpness of it.

Only two beings still alive on this planet could break past his defenses this way, and Vash had neither the care nor the spine to try. A shudder wracked him that he couldn't explain, for though the psychic scream lacked words to tell anything, the pain attached to the mindless, endless howl spoke of torture unutterable.

It was curiosity bade him to grab his gun and seize a thomas. His own mind created a calmer connection between himself and the human; like an arrow attached to a rope, it disturbed nothing and pierced Legato's consciousness with the ease of a well honed blade.

_Where are you?_ The Plant asked, not trusting the psychic link to remain steady.

Deliriously, Legato laughed before replying, _Hell_.

_Before that,_ Knives did not think to berate the man for his foolish answer.

_A different Hell. LR. _

---  
_One light to the blind, and they see_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

He prepared himself for blood, for broken limbs, for mutilation of some kind. To think of things in connection to Legato's ivory flesh, his smooth and little scarred body, was hard, but he managed.

Of course, knowing that it had to have been Vash who had done this made it doubly hard to accept anything so messy as torture. In a fight, Vash tried to wound, not kill; it was a characteristic Knives normally found disgusting but now took a bizarre relief from.

So when he reached the top of the rocky outcrop, he was ready for the blood, the spray of it that stretched a good few feet back from Legato's prone form and the pool of it already dried in the heat. He was expecting the pained expression, the rigid posture of he who suffers unutterably. But nothing had given him any clue to the type of wound, to the source of Legato's terrible pain.

He was not prepared, you see, for the tiny, charred entrance wound. The flesh was burnt at the edges of the clean hole from where the hot metal of the gun had pressed- and in his shock he could see the tiniest hint of a smudge, as if the gun had trembled or the target moved. A little river of blood had ran from that hole, coursing its way down Legato's face to dry in a crusted trail from brow to jaw.

_Let it have lodged, _he thought mindlessly, not recognizing the mental plea. _Let it have stopped where I might remove it and fix this._

But of course, it had not lodged. Did not the feeble twitch of his servant's fingers speak of paralysis; did not the spray of blood and bone and- undesirable but undeniable- brain speak of a bullet passing clean through?

Not clean, of course, he saw as his eyes- moving now without his want or need- took in the mess that had been made. He moved toward the man, the servant who should be dead from this wound and yet couldn't quite make it, and made himself look at the exit wound. Nothing so neat as its mate, it was wide enough to reach into with two fingers, ragged and clotted with hair and half- dried blood.

He understood then, what was keeping the man alive. It was difficult to conceive of, even for he who had survived Vash's Angel Arm by force of will alone. To think of the psychic power it must take- to hold the blood back, to will the bone to grow just a little faster. And the obvious agony it was causing. To say he was now in hell was understandable, for what greater hell was there than pain?

Returning to Legato's side, he crouched down and brushed the hair out of the blood and sweat that had plastered it to the human's face. At the touch of his fingers, the human's lips parted ever so slightly, his breath exhaled in a anemic whimper of pain that crumbled Knives' heart to hear.

As those eyes struggled open, it was quickly made obvious that, no matter what his mind was trying to do, it wouldn't save him. Normally a sort of intriguing melted gold, Legato's eyes were dull from pain and weariness; the left stared sightlessly from its socket, roving in tune with the right with its pupil dilated enough to blot out the gold completely.

Looking at the human, a creature he has always known to be weaker than himself but strong in his own right; no different than others of his kind but removed from them, elevated in some mysterious way; looking at him as he lay there unconsciously holding himself in a purgatory between death and life, hurt the Plant in a way he couldn't understand.

He went to his knees beside the human, his pale fingers resting lightly upon Legato's tanned cheek. The man's breath evened, each draw shallow, each exhale a soft sigh. Finally that one golden eye trained on his face, and Legato's breath hitched again. His lips trembled and Knives thought for a second that the human, in his delirium, was going to cry, before realizing that Legato was trying to speak. Recalling the whimpering mewl that had escaped him in place of the scream he intended, Knives felt another stab of hurt.

_Master_, Legato said, his mental voice all velvet and suede, but so, so soft. _I am so sorry, Master_.

The apology reminded the Plant of a time long ago, when Legato had first come into his service and was prone to apologizing before a mistake had even been noticed. He closed his eyes and sighed softly.

"Oh Legato… what have you done now?"

---  
_One touch on the head, we believe_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

_I wanted to teach him, Master, as you taught me. The pain of living, the need to kill. Those things he should have learned from you, Master, but chose not to heed._

Staring down into that half-blinded, feverish face, Knives felt cold in the full sunlight. He was not one to take pity on a dying spider, nor to take blame for things not his fault, but all the same he felt… responsible. "What are you saying? You came here to be killed?"

_Myself and the Hornfreak. He at least played his part willingly. I tried to !!!!_

The words cut off with another flare of psychic screaming, the pain again becoming too much. Knives whipped his hand away from the man's face, rearing back with the momentary instinct to strike the source of his discomfort before relaxing, the piercing mental noise dissipating as Legato took control of himself.

_I'm sorry Master_, The human said, his voice becoming a sort of whine, as close to tearful as Knives had ever experienced with his servant. _I tried to teach him, to show him- An egotistical being like myself can't be allowed to live, I told him, and egotist that I am I tried to cheat even this final act. _

"You used _yourself_ to teach him, Legato? You came here willingly, willfully trying to get him to _kill you_?" His hands still clenched into fists, Knives ground his knuckles into the rock, seeking clarity in the sting of abraded skin. "You came here to _die_?"

Legato looked away, his eyes floating closed again as if he could not bear to keep them open, or to look at his master. _I had to, it was the perfect way to teach him, Master. Whatever else I may be, I am still only human; only by my death can I truly serve you perfectly. And he had to be taught. Master, he had to understand what you tried to teach him. I have to die. I… ahh, Master I want to._

The words that flowed into his mind were smooth and soothing, an unbroken, even cascade of words striving to comfort the plant. Something about this- that even in his suffering Legato would focus on trying to keep Knives comfortable- was upsetting and enraging. He jerked to his feet, awkwardly stiff, and paced a few yarz away. Legato's mind withdrew and then hesitantly approached again, like a child tugging at his shirt sleeve. Knives roughly pushed him away, running a hand through his hair and letting the silence stretch between them. Every so often he felt the pressure of Legato's mental cries; No matter how far he managed to pace, he could still hear the awful keen that was all the human could manage verbally.

---  
_One head in the clouds  
You won't let go  
You're too proud_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

Delirious from sun exposure and pain, Legato began weakly humming. The tune, Knives recognized after a moment, was the refrain of _Green Grow'th the Holly_, maddeningly repeated and broken with weak gasps and desperate pulls for air. The sound of it was distressing to Knives; he found his fingers clenching at his hair, the heels of his hands pressing against his ears. There was something horrifying to the song, with its promise of devotion unending; composed by a philanderer and now sung by a man abandoning his duty.

When he heard Legato's scream, there had been a myriad of options to choose from, but when he choose to find the human, he lost the majority. And when he came to the man's side, there remained only one real option.

Returning to Legato's side, he crouched down and placed his hand on the man's face, not waiting for his eyes to open before speaking. "Legato, why did you call me"?

This time the human's eyes only managed to slide half open, the blinded left drooping more. A terrible clarity burned in the right, understanding the pain he was in and pleading for an end. _The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow._

"What?" Knives snapped, though the quote needed no clarification.

_Once upon a time there was a boy. This boy was small and alone and the men who found him thought to put him to the only use he could have at such an age. And these men_

"This is not the time!" Knives interrupted, understanding and not wanting to hear anything more from the man. Legato went on anyway, either not hearing or not caring to listen.

In his deceptively steady voice, all honey and wine, he said, _These men would have used the boy to death, using the single weapon he had, he tried to kill his captors, and their ilk- their wives and children, to the last infant, that he might be free. And, luckless wretch that the brat was, he failed at such a simple task._

_Recaptured, the boy is chained to the wall. Do you know helplessness, Master? I cannot imagine a being like you can- you are as God on this miserable planet, infinitely capable and unerring in your actions. To be utterly helpless in the hands of a creature so debased even a child cannot think of them as human- to be used, soiled by something that is really no better than a wild animal- one wishes to die. And so the boy wished. But he did not, and it seemed the torment would simply go on forever, punishment for some crime he could not remember. _

Standing again, Knives moved away from Legato, his hands spasmodically clenching and unclenching. And yet Legato went on, and the Plant did not try to block him.

_There are no words to describe the relief the boy felt when it all stopped. When the thing on him froze and went limp and slid, lifeless, from him and to the ground. To turn and see an Entity so perfect it could only be a God. The boy went to his knees, do you remember, Master? He begged to be allowed to go on with his savior. My life for you, he swore. Anything you want, he offered, just let me remain by your side. And this Entity, so beautiful and perfect, tested the boy_

A dark laugh left the Plant, the sound hollow and unhappy. "Tested? I tried to kill you, Legato."

_The boy was tested, and in his eagerness to please, he showed himself not afraid of death; shedding his blood willingly on the Blades of his new master. And that Master found him not wanting. _

Slowly turning, Knives tried to swallow the pain that he felt- irrational pain, stupid pain- and moved back toward the human. He was slightly disarmed to see that singular eye now fully open, watching him intently. "I will not allow you to die here. This was not my plan."

_My death is required, Master._

"Absolutely not. I have plans for you, there are things I need you to-" his voice cut off, his teeth coming together with an audible crack. The word 'need' applied here was… well, it was correct; hideously, sickeningly correct. For all that he was- human, and therefore detestable- Legato was an integral part of Knives' plans.

A gambit, nothing more.

"There are things I need you to do still," He finished evenly. "There has to be a way I can fix this."

_Master, my body isn't going to survive this. It isn't meant to survive this._

Looking at him, it was easy to see how that might be true. His skin, once sun-kissed and luminous, had paled to gray, and Knives knew if he touched the human he would be clammy and cool. Only the sighted eye remained bright and lively. "You choose now to doubt me, Legato?"

_I am only a human._

Shaking his head, Knives closed his eyes again. He couldn't understand this at all. Humans were supposed to cling to life, no matter how close to death they were. They clung to every breath, cleaving to life with undignified tenacity. And yet Legato, the very last human he required to see dead, lay there pleading for death. "No." He said firmly. "I can fix you. I am sure of it."

_All humans must die, Master. Sooner rather than later._

"Humans will die at _my_ discretion. I did not tell you come out here and do this!" Anger was an irrational front he instinctively threw between them, something that could conceal the confusion and would be understandable to both of them. "_I_ am your Master! You will not leave my service without my permission."

_You told me to teach him, Master, and I did. As a human, it was only my goal to give myself to your service in a meaningful way. _

"I have a plan, Legato!"

_Is not part of that plan expunging the human race from this planet?_

"In my own damn good time! Do not presume-"

_And am I not _human_, Master? _

"My plan requires your assistance-"

_Quit _waffling_, damn it! I am _human_! Your purpose is to obliterate humans- all of them, everyone else and me! You have the gun, now use it!_

"No!" He slammed his fists against his knees as he wrenched to his feet, stalking away. "I did not give you permission to die yet!"

---  
_Adore me as I drift away  
Let me hear you say I'm fine  
You cry as my body dies  
All that you despised is gone away_

_-Ode, Creed  
_---

There was silence again, but it was not blissful by any means. In the quiet he heard the echo of Legato's badgering and felt a thousand tiny blades slicing into the core of himself. Was this what it felt like to fall under the Angel Blade, he wondered, shuddering. It was wrong to feel this. Remorse, dismay- disgust in his own base urge to do what Legato begged.

After a few moments, he walked back to Legato's side, crouching down again. The man's eyes had slipped closed again; his breath was shallower than ever, and when Knives brushed the hair from his face again, his skin was cold despite the sun. The human's eyes fluttered, but didn't open this time.

_Master, I _have_ to die, don't you understand?_ Legato whispered in his mind. No apologies, for it was clear they were beyond that. Just as the fever had burned through Legato and left him cold and clear-headed to suffer, so too had the niceties burnt away.

"Stop _asking_ for it," Knives said, his voice humiliatingly close to a plea. "Stop asking, I never said to do this."

A soft sigh left Legato's lips, the sigh of one much older reasoning with a child. _Master there is something keeping me alive now, but eventually it too will fail. Whether you help me or not I will die here_.

"No, Legato, don't… I can fix you, I promise, there has to be something in the machinery that will heal a human. And if not, I can put something together. Just stop _begging me_."

_I will die whether you help me or not._

How true it was. A slow, cruel inevitability. The pool of blood beneath Legato's head had grown and the man himself looked waxen and frail- seconds from death. And yet he kept drawing breath, forcing his body along… and it was as it had always been, his frail appearance disguising a strength beyond that of any other human. All that strength, all that potential, eking out of him in thimblefuls, wasted watering the sand.

For a moment, he simply kneeled there, his fingers lingering on Legato's hair; still soft and straight, silky to the touch as Knives remembered it always being. "You really don't understand, do you?" He murmured, pulling his gun from its holster. "That I don't want you to die."

_But I must, Master, for all that you deserve to become yours._

He licked his lips, the hand not holding the gun smoothing Legato's hair, petting it as one might stroke a dying pet in its final moments. "Would you believe me if I said I needed you?"

There was a faint sensation that burst at the back of the Plant's mind, like champagne bubbles. He recognized it as Legato's psychic equivalent of laughter, much more genuine than a sound. The corners of the man's lips twitched upward for a second. _No, Master, you never needed me. But I was a good tool, and you wielded me well._

It had gone unsaid for years that Legato loved him, and he had chosen to ignore it. He could have used it to further manipulate the human, but there had been no need… and Legato had always served him with faithful dignity, something he approved of, if not respected. Knives had never bother considering any attachment he might have formed toward the human until now. He had enjoyed using Legato's devotion to achieve physical satisfaction, but had never wondered why, of all humans, Legato was the only one he sought such relations with.

What he felt for the human was not love. Love was a feral beast who nested in broken hearts and hunted wherever tender touches were exchanges.

All the same, he knew Legato loved him, in all possible ways. This troubled him, and he toyed with the idea of releasing the man with a whispered lie.

"Is this really what you want, Legato?" His voice became a whisper, creaking on emotion.

_Please, Master. _

Swallowing, he placed the gun to Legato's temple, holding the man steady with his other hand. He expected the human to be shaking, but he was still. "Anything you want to say first."

_Only that I am sorry to have distressed you, Master. _There was a second-long pause, during which Legato debated voicing his affection, and decided he didn't want to die with a cliché on his lips (even if the lips were purely metaphoric). _And to thank you. For everything._

Nodding, Knives sat up a little straighter, positioning the gun carefully. "Be still, Legato."

This time, he was.

---  
_Amour Amour am Ende  
gefangen zwischen deinen Zähnen_

_-Amour, Rammstein  
_---

He was still wiping his hands against his thighs as he rode out of L.R. The blood splatter had been minimal, and little enough had been on his hands, but still they felt soiled. He was as Lady Macbeth, trying to erase an invisible stain.

In his hurry, he pushed the thomas hard, racing to meet his brother. Because he had a final meeting to keep, of course. And there were words to be had with Vash, yes indeed.

Vash owed him now. Vash and his ideals, his perfect world; Vash living on the banter of an idealist too blind to realize she had poisoned the well her children were drinking from. He had tried doing things subtly, he had tried using alternatives, and Vash had refused to see reason. Had, in fact, thrown all Knives' brotherly concern back in his face.

After all the injuries Knives had sustained protecting Vash and then trying to help him see the real, logical world, this was the final jab. Petty, childish- very much his brother's style.

You didn't take your brother's favorite toy and leave it broken in the dirt for him to find. Knives did not delude himself that it was an accident, or that Vash hadn't known what he'd done. This had been an act of malice, and he was through. Legato's death helped him cut through the bullshit, as it were.

So he had a little meeting to attend with his brother, just as had been in the plan all along. Only now, instead of talking, the fight was the thing. It came down to one last fight, brother against brother (and damn the bitch who had turned them against each other in the first place). And Knives was determined to win this time. And he would kill Vash. A life for a life.

But what did that leave him on Gunsmoke? The pleasure of killing the final few thousand spiders on the planet? What a lonely, pitiable existence that would be. Without Vash, there was no reason to continue living here; no more fights, no more plans.

He would simply have to kill himself when it was all done.

And perhaps in death, as someone had once told him (curse her heart, god damn her eyes) he would see his servant, his most loyal confidant, his sometime lover. Perhaps in death, he would see Legato again, whole and perfect and just for him.

So he plotted as he raced across the sand. The only thing left to do was finish preparing for Vash's arrival. The plan was so simple.

He never imagined plans could go so wrong.

---  
_Bitte bitte gib mir Gift_

_-Amour, Rammstein  
_---

The End

A.N: Finally, after much waiting, the rewrite of Ode. I wrote that story four years ago, a sophomore in high school. I rewrote it as a sophmore in college, which (relaizing that just now) strikes me as funny. The updated verion if three times as long and I like it a bit more. not sure how good it is yet, since no one else has read it.

A bit of a twisted mesh of anime and manga, I know there are a few points were any of you people who read might go 'say what?' But give me some credit, I havn't watched the show in years, and reading the manga remains a pipe dream for me. I'm going from memory and the framework of the old story. If you don't like it, lump it.

By the way, the quote Legato uses before launching into his delirious story is from Shakespeare's Macbeth, Act Five, Scene Five. And it's used improperly, as its out of context, but I don't care. It's two in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Oh- hope you all enjoyed thanksgiving, those of you living in America. It was very… productive for me.


End file.
